Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
He's an island in the middle of a storm. There's something calming about him, or perhaps it's the sheer size of him. Everyone feels small and vulnerable standing among giants like him. He's well over six feet tall, sculpted of thick, corded muscle. His size is the ultimate equalizer…something I've been sorely lacking for the last couple of days. I've been my own island, though I've been unmoored and adrift.
My friends have been amazing, don't get me wrong. But there's only so much they can do. They don't feel what I do. They aren't being targeted by a crazy man. They have their kids and their spouses and the assurance that, somehow, everything will work out. All I have is me. At the end of the day, they go home to each other. I go home alone.
I feel less like an island standing in front of this man than I have in a long time. He knows how I feel. I don't know what he's been through, but he's been through it. And he's still standing.
"Who are you?" I blurt, taking a step in his direction before I can stop myself. My hands ache with the desire to touch him, to trace my fingers down the lines of his tattoos until I understand the story they tell. Until I know his pain.
The black ones on his forearms…what do those mean? I think they're, perhaps, the most significant of all. Or whatever they're meant to cover are anyway. He blacked them out to avoid seeing them but didn't have them removed. He wanted the reminder that they're under there. Why?
"Winter, this is–" Riley starts.
"Ronan Gallagher," he growls, cutting her off. "You're still standing too close to the windows. Unless that's bulletproof glass, someone with a high-powered rifle could shoot you from the street or the building across the street."
My stomach churns at the thought, cold, hard fear slicing through me. I quickly move out of the line of sight of the windows, stepping into a small, recessed alcove between the elevators. "Better?"
"Yeah, that's better." He takes a few steps in my direction and then stops again. His green eyes scan me, his assessment meticulous. I think he sees me more clearly in these few seconds than anyone else has in years. "You holding up okay, songbird?"
"Winter," I whisper, acutely aware of the fact that Cash, Riley, and Kasen are watching the two of us intently. They don't say a word, but their silence speaks volumes. They're fascinated by the way we interact, though I don't know why.
"What?"
"My name is Winter."
"I know." Ronan stares at me for a moment, not speaking. He takes another step toward me before stopping himself again. "You're a tiny little thing. I thought you'd be taller."
"I am not short." I frown at him. "You're just tall. That's a you problem."
His lips twitch but he doesn't smile. He's very serious. Very somber. I don't think he smiles or laughs much. I doubt he has in a long time. "A me problem, huh?"
"Yes, as in you take it up with Jesus if you've got a problem," I mutter, trying desperately not to fidget like a nervous teenager. I feel like one standing in front of this man even though I'm twenty-two. My palms actually sweat, and my mouth is dry. I'm not even this nervous on stage.
"I'll do that, then," he says. I like his voice. He doesn't have a country drawl, but more of a soft growl. He doesn't speak loudly, but I don’t think he needs to in order to be heard. His presence alone commands attention. "Do you know who I am, songbird?"
"You told me your name already."
He glances over his shoulder at Riley, who hurries forward with Cash at her side.
"Ronan is the bodyguard we talked about," she says. "He used to be an Army Ranger."
I glance from her to him. "You were in the Army?"
He nods.
Little pieces of his story begin to reveal themselves. The scars on his arms. The one along the side of his neck. The haunted look in his eyes. He's seen a lot. Probably more than he ever wanted to see.
"I know it's not always something you like to hear, but I was born and raised in the south," I say. "And around here, it's disrespectful not to honor the men and women who risk everything for us. No one deserves our gratitude and our respect more than you do. Thank you for your service, Ronan. The world is a safer place because men like you made the sacrifices you made to guard it."
Emotion flares in his eyes so bright it eclipses the sun. They blaze like twin pools of green flame, so darn bright they're blinding. "Thank you," he rasps, his cheek pulsing in a way that makes my chest throb.